Desperate
by Coldlittleheart
Summary: After Sherlock's death, he stays hidden in Molly's flat. When he goes missing, Molly tries to find him. Sherlolly love. Note: I was once an avid fanfic writer. Buffy/Spike, Smallville Chlark. And now Sherlolly. Havent' written in a long time and have finally come around to post something that, I hope, will become a good story. Be kind. Hope you like.


Sherlock had been gone for two weeks.

Since his "death" he had been hiding out in Molly's flat and he was never gone for more than two days. And if he was, he would let her know.

Molly was worried and she wanted to call Mycroft but decided against it when she remembered Sherlock saying that she should keep contact with him to a minimum to keep away any suspicions.

She paced around her living room racking her brain trying to decide what to do. She felt concerned and her anxiety grew by the minute as all sorts of crazy thoughts invaded her mind.

_Was Sherlock all right?_

_Where was he?_

And suddenly, as if struck by lightning, a thought came to mind. Sitting on the sofa she combed a strand of her hair back as she analyzed the possibility and even though it was a long shot decided it was the only thing she could do.

Grabbing her coat and a scarf, she rushed out the door and down the stairs of her flat into the cold street.

It was her only chance and she had to try.

Feeling the sharp winter air on her face, she made her way down to Baker Street hoping that her memories were correct. Reaching the corner, she looked up and down the street, searching, scanning the entrances of the buildings, looking at the walking patrons and trying to remember what Sherlock had told her once.

"Where are you?,"she muttered as she took a couple of steps towards the curb to get a better look of the road. "Please," she begged almost inaudibly.

And almost as if it were an answered prayer, towards her left, a few feet away and on the opposite side of the road, she spotted him. He was sitting at the top of the steps that led to a building wrapped in a large grey blanket.

Molly rushed across the street, oblivious to the oncoming traffic. A cab swerved to avoid her and honked loudly in the process as she held up her hand apologetically.

"Sorry!," she exclaimed glancing at the car and rushing on to the sidewalk and reaching his side.

He was a young homeless man in his late twenties, wearing layers upon layers of winter clothes, topped with a grey blanket that enveloped his frame. Molly approached him, guessing his face under the knitted hat that came all the way down to his eyes.

At the bottom of the stairs she looked up and made quick eye contact with him. He remained impassive and just looked at her as Molly came up a few steps towards him. She shivered in the cold wind and sticking her in her jacket pocket drew a small piece of paper wrapped in a bill.

Molly thought about saying something but didn't exactly know what. Silently, she stood there and watched as the guy reached out and took the money and the note from her hand and walking past her, left.

In the early evening the wind had picked up and tiny snowflakes started to fall over the city.

Shaking under the intense cold, Molly walked the few blocks that separated her house from the tube station, feeling her fingers getting numb even inside her pockets. She wanted to believe that Sherlock was alright but his long absence seemed to suggest otherwise.

Entering her flat she discarded the coat, gloves and scarf on the sofa and made her way into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Finally her fingers and her face seemed to be returning to life in the warmth of the heated room.

She gazed out the window, and into the darkness of the street before taking a sip of her tea and heading into her bedroom.

"Tomorrow," she said to herself. "Hopefully, tomorrow."

Molly felt Sherlock's body stretching next to hers, feeling the length of his legs and the warmth of his hands coming around her waist. Absently, she pushed against him, seeking full contact with his skin, wanting to feel him close.

She smiled into the soft pillow and moaned softly as his hands came up her stomach and under the fabric of her pajama top, tracing absent patterns on her skin.

"Molly," she heard him whisper into her ear. "Molly…"

She sighed contently at the sound of his voice and moved to snuggle closer to him but suddenly her surroundings became cold and empty. Turning, she opened her eyes to find herself alone. Confused, she shook her dream away and tried to regain control of her surroundings. Outside it was still dark and quiet.

Feeling upset Molly got out of bed and decided she could not go back to sleep. The dream had felt so real and comforting that her heart broke a little when she came to and realized he was not there.

Barefoot, feeling the floorboards creaking under her feet, she made her way down the hallway towards the kitchen. She entered the dark living room and as she moved past the sofa she froze.

"Molly," came Sherlock's voice.

Startled she turned and made out his silhouette against the faint street light coming in through the window.

"Sherlock," she exclaimed. "You are here…," she trailed off feeling her heart beating fast inside her chest.

"You called me," he said as he turned on the small lamp by the sofa. He was holding Molly's note in his hand.


End file.
